Five Maladies of Remus J Lupin
by Bedraggled Atelier 2
Summary: At 15, I had only four concern (my lycanthropy being the obvious first). That is, until Sirius Black approached me at Platform 9 and 3/4. We've met at St. Mungo's during the summer, he said. Imagine if a pureblood knew my secret?
1. Chapter 1

At 15, I only had four concerns.

My lycanthropy was the obvious first, a monthly bane since the age of four. Each full moon, I was locked in a cellar or a shed to keep everyone safe from the beast I turned into. Every so often, my howls and shrieking would disturb our muggle neighbors, and we would be forced to move to another, much more secluded home in the middle of nowhere before they suspected that I was a werewolf. For years, I saw no way I could ever attend Hogwarts. No werewolf had previously attended Hogwarts, and I hadn't expected to be the first. Werewolves, I had read, remained mostly on secluded, wild lands beyond the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds, living solely on primitive instincts - instincts I never developed.

But one day during the summer, I received my Hogwarts letter and then (after much celebration between my family of three) a visit from the Headmaster himself. Within minutes of arriving at my home, Headmaster Dumbledore had eased my fears, explaining that the school was fully aware of my condition and had made special accommodations for my monthly lycanthropy, should I wish to attend Hogwarts. Of course, the answer was yes. What wizarding child wouldn't want to attend Hogwarts? Even if I was entering Hogwarts late, the answer yes.

So I arrived at Hogwarts without the fear that my condition would endanger the other students. For once, I could worry less about inflicting harm upon those around me and more on enjoying my adolescence. To be honest, back then, I didn't expect to enjoy the remainder of my adolescence - most of which was wrought by worry.

On September 1st, Kings Cross Station was bustling with bright eyed wizards and witches returning to another year at Hogwarts. For some, especially if they were 11, it was their first year. For others, it was their final year at school. I was part of the earlier group, the ones leaving their families for the first time, but I was a gangly wizard in my mid teens, much older than the average first year and self conscious of it too. While I was searching for Platform 9 and 3/4, I reached into the pockets of my robes and felt for my wand. I had never truly felt like a real wizard until the moment I purchased my first wand. They say the wand chooses the wizard. Just having it - that simple stick carved out of wand wood - meant that I was a wizard, that I was meant to be part of the Wizarding World.

I knew that my life was about to change forever for the better. That whatever route I took from there, it would be easier than living without magic.

I was a wizard now, regardless of my lycanthropy.

That day in September, while I was admiring the round arches and iron frames that supported the interior of King's Cross station, I spotted two students wheeling old fashioned trunks in a cart on their way towards the platform. I assumed they were heading to the Hogwarts Express, as few muggles walked around with such old style possessions, but with the way they were glancing at me and speaking in hushed tones to each other, I had the impression that they were making their way towards me.

I soon discovered that I was right. They were making a bee-line to me, carts clinking against the pavement. Well, the one without glasses was.

A handsome teen with loose, ebony curls stopped in front of me with a grin on his face and one hand on his cart while his spectacle wearing friend with messy hair kept walking. I looked at the gray eyed youth questioningly.

"I'll find us seats," his messy haired friend called as he made his way to the stone walls. "Don't take too long."

"Won't be long," the handsome youth called back as his friend disappeared behind the stone walls. Then, the curly haired Hogwarts student turned to me, his misty gray eyes peering into my own, and asked, "Remember me?"

"No," I answered carefully. "I'm afraid not."

"We've met before at St. Mungo's during the summer," he explained, his grin dropping into a unsure expression.

That set off alarm bells. No one should have known I was admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital. Hardly anyone should have known who I was at all. I eyed him warily this time, wondering if this conversation had anything to do with my lycanthropy. Only the first day and-

"I caught you looking at me," he explained, interrupting my thoughts, the grin returning to his face again. With the grin masking his haughty expression, he looked even more attractive, I noticed.

"I'm sorry if I was," I said politely, searching the boy's expression for intent, and realizing my palms were beginning to sweat. "I didn't realize I was staring at anyone."

"You weren't," the handsome young man assured. The other teen started drumming the metal handle of the cart, making him appear like a member of a muggle rock band. "So-"

"Is that all?" I interrupted, wishing to know why the young wizard had approached him. "We should head for the trains before it departs."

"Just thought I would say, hello."

"Hello, then," I said, taken aback by his amicable nature. I found it absurd that anyone would approach a stranger just to say hi. He had to be a stranger, I thought. Until that moment, I had never met him. Unless he was one of my previous muggle friends? Doubtful, considering that I had never stayed in a muggle neighborhood for more than a year, and a year wasn't enough time to remember someone for years to come.

"Hello," he repeated with a grin. "I'm Sirius Black. And you are?"

"Remus Lupin," I paused, recognizing that surname. "Did you say Black? As in the pureblood family?"

"That's the one," Sirius sighed.

I was sure I detected frustration from Sirius, but I felt so lightheaded that I could not be sure.

"So you've heard of us?" Sirius said, looking resigned.

"Of course." Perhaps Sirius had been one of the patients in the medical ward. Imagine if a pureblood knew of my condition? "I'm sorry. How did we meet again?"

My heart was racing. I wanted to know his answer but simultaneously dreaded it.

"Just briefly," Sirius consoled, sensing my defensiveness. "Nothing to worry about. I won't tell anyone your secret."

My secret? I thought incredulously.

I stood there, stunned by the revelation that Black knew of "my secret," as the pureblood turned to leave. What did he mean by that? Did he know of my lycanthropy?

When Sirius disappeared into Platform 9 and 3/4, I took a seat on one of the metal benches and placed my head in my hands, suddenly feeling nauseous. I was afraid. Afraid of losing any chance I had at remaining at Hogwarts, afraid of being openly outed as a werewolf. That nausea persisted as I boarded the train and was so exacerbated by the late summer heat that when I finally found an empty compartment, I felt sick. I left my luggage on the floor and bolted down the hall, practically sprinting for the W/C.

"I've never heard of Hogwarts until an owl-" I heard a first year say.

I quickened my pace, feeling my liquidated breakfast at the back of my throat.

"Final year. Last chance to-" someone laughed.

I reached for the lavatory at the end of the corridor and entered it.

The door shut behind me, and all I could hear was the students' muffled voices as they walked by. I scrambled to the toilet and breathed shakily, the taste of vomit and my breakfast now making its way to my tongue and back down my throat.

I questioned everything - my decision to attend Hogwarts, my belief that life would be easier at Hogwarts, my trust in Dumbledore's ability to create miracles. It felt like the world was narrowing in on me, like I had willing walked into a tunnel that tapered towards the end. Now, I was stuck on a train barreling down the tracks towards Hogwarts with compartments full of wizards and witches who had yet to learn that I was a werewolf.

My head was throbbing, pounding steadily like drums beaten by a musician, and I was struggling to breathe.

How did Sirius Black know?

He said we met at St Mungo's during the summer. If that was true, then all he had to do was read the label on the bed, and he would have discovered my condition. Everything was there - my name, my age, a detailed description of my wounds and my condition. I forced myself to remember my stay at St. Mungo's, the few memories I could remember while conscious. Was there someone beside me, a wizard slumbering behind the privacy curtains? Of course, there was, I thought, feeling foolish. There had to be. I wasn't the only patient. There was always people coming and going - patients, and their maladies, and their guests. Always curtains opening and closing, people talking among themselves.

To avoid being spotted, I was careful to keep the curtains shut around me.

Except the curtains weren't always completely closed.

I recalled it then, in the midst of my meltdown - the memory Black had referred to. It came back to me almost too vividly.

I remembered his eyes first, his curious eyes with a peculiar gleam of mischief.

During the summer before this year, I was omitted to St. Mungo's Hospital after a bad moon with grave wounds, gashes and bite marks that couldn't be healed by a simple healing spell. I was given medicine meant to numb me against the pain of having my wounds stitched together with a needle and thread, so I spent most of my time in the hospital drifting in and out of consciousness.

The sharp pains from my self inflicted wounds had eased into a dull ache that day, and I had expected to be discharged before the end of the summer, just in time to head off to Hogwarts. Without the pain, my thoughts quickly returned to my father's recent fascination with muggle appliances and to my future - a future that was neither secured in the Wizarding nor Muggle World until I made it to Hogwarts.

A few days into my recovery, a bespectacled young man with messy hair walked into the room, nursing a dislocated shoulder and a broken arm. I could just see him and his friend through the small opening of the privacy curtains. When asked how he injured his arm, the messy haired teen grinned and answered, "Just some rough housing."

"James, here, fell off his broom flirting," his friend interjected.

"Shush, Sirius," James hissed, giving Sirius a light shove. "Like you've never done anything stupid."

I noticed that his friend Sirius was a tall, well built youth with a defined jawline, a haughty expression on his face, and dark curls. He seemed like someone important, I thought at the time. He had a sort of elegant and confident posture that belied his upper class upbringing. If I had to guess, I would assumed he was a pureblood from one of the Sacred 28, possibly his friend too.

"I've never played Casanova for a Miss Lily Evans and ended up breaking every bone in my body."

While the medic patched up James's injuries, Sirius Black, as if feeling eyes on him, let his gaze wandered around the infirmary until it rested on me. The handsome young man eyed me curiously.

I hated to be stared at while wrapped in bloodied bandages, I remember thinking, my eyes closing and opening languidly as I blinked in and out of consciousness. So I reached for the privacy curtains and closed it shut.

I had never thought my glance meant anything, especially in the stupor I was in. Or that it would attract attention from someone who would remember me a month later.

I groaned as nausea washed over me again.

I should have known that they were Hogwarts students. Anyone in the Wizarding World over the age of 11 was most likely a wizard. And I should have known that Sirius Black was a pureblood. Everything about him suggested that he was from an old lineage in the Wizarding World. Same with his friend. They looked so sure of themselves, so sure of their place in this world.

But did they know? I wondered, almost hopefully like I was expecting to find some evidence that they didn't know.

Of course, they knew. What other secret did I have besides my lycanthropy?

I thought back to that grin on Sirius Black's face and his easy going attitude as he walked up to me. For a pureblood and a Black, at that, he appeared rather benevolent, but he couldn't hide his mischievous nature. It was apparent the day we first met, and it was there during our conversation at Platform 9 and 3/4. And If he was like his family, he was surely a Slytherin.

Everyone knew that Slytherins valued cunning and self preservation, both traits that described what muggles referred to as sociopaths. If the world was ever eclipsed again by the dark arts, it would most likely be led by pureblood hegemony and by the quest for wizarding dominion over all others (magical or non-magical) - all ideals that members of the House of Slytherin valued.

Black, himself, seemed like a likable fellow, lively and cheerful (not surly like most Slytherins), admirable and charismatic. Intelligent too, if his eyes revealed anything. If I had never been bitten and turned into a werewolf and if he wasn't a Black, I could have very well been friends with someone like him. But I was a werewolf, and he was a Black. So the only reason for his interest in me had to do with the dark creature I morphed into every month. That was the secret he knew.

The floor of the lavatory rocked from side to side and the train's whistle rang out as the train turned on the tracks. My head throbbed in response, and I grimaced as the whistle lowered to a steady screeching noise. I brought my head to the toilet, clutching my head, as my mouth watered with saliva and bile rose from my throat.

I felt sick and exhausted.

It felt cruel and unfair that I would lose everything now when I was so close. Not even at Hogwarts, and I was already close to losing my place at the school. After four years of waiting for my letter, after a decade of managing my condition, after years of questioning my place in the world (as neither a muggle nor wizard), I felt like I was heading to a place I belonged.

I had hoped that sense of belonging would last more than a few months. It was such a shame that it would end today, just as I was heading to Hogwarts. How soon would it be until the school knew that Remus J. Lupin was a werewolf?

Another wave of nausea hit me, and I retched a string of saliva.

2549 words


	2. Chapter 2

I walked listlessly back to my compartment, weary and in great need of sleep, and remained there for most of the trip, trying to fall asleep on the hard cushions of the seats and stay asleep. Around the time we made over to the lush forests of Scotland, I fell into a deep sleep and only woke up when the train's whistle chimed. Now awake, I groggily watched the steady stream of students in their Hogwarts uniform heading for the exit and then rose to grab my luggage from the metal shelf and join them.

It was dark outside. Even with the lit lanterns at the station, I could hardly see anything at all beyond a few feet in front of me, but I heard very clearly a loud voice, "Firs' years! Firs' years, this way!"

I walked down the aisle until I met a group of first year students trailing after an enormous man with wild hair and a beard. A giant. There had to be giant in him, I thought. I couldn't imagine a human being that tall. "Firs' years!" he called again.

Only the first years and I took the ferries across the Great Lake to the castle. As the wooden boasts glided across the dark waters, I wondered where the older students went and if this was some initiation for new students. Once on Hogwarts grounds, we were ushered up the moss covered stone steps, which were very slippery to walk on, to the castle. There was some ruckus behind me when a student had stumbled. I barely evaded slipping myself. The entire way was lit only by the lanterns that the Prefects carried, a poor light source for the students at the end of the line.

We entered into a wide corridor and then up a staircase leading to grand wooden doors of the Great Hall. The Prefects explained that we were to wait here until a professor came to notify us that they were ready for us.

I couldn't believe I was here.

I still couldn't believe it.

"Firs' years," Hagrid said. "Professor McGonagall."

She thanked the giant gatekeeper and turned to address us. "Welcome to Hogwarts," said a professor perfunctorily and then turned to the wooden doors, opening it wide to reveal a majestic dining hall with towering rounded arches and high ceilings, bespelled to mimic the night sky. I hear gasps of astonishment and reverence around me. I, too, was in awe. I had seen pictures of the Great Hall - moving pictures, detailed pictures - but to be there was an entirely different experience.

The hall was filled with hundreds of students sitting at the long tables that stretched from the grand doors to the horizontal table where the professors sat. Behind them was a large stain glass window, and all around the room were hundreds of floating candles. At this time, several of the first years in the middle whispered ardently about their excitement for the Sorting to start. Everyone was so quiet that I heard most of their conversation from my place in the back.

I stood in the long line of students waiting to be sorted into their Houses, suddenly self conscious again of my age - a 15 year old standing among 11 year olds. I was acutely aware of the entire student population watching the Sorting, a few of their eyes wandering over to the older student standing among the pre-teens. I wanted the Sorted and the staring to be over quickly, so I was glad when the boy in front of me shuffled to the front of the Great Hall and took a seat on the stool to be sorted.

It would be my turn next.

What House would I be sorted in? I wondered. Was I intelligent like Ravenclaw? I admired intelligence, just like many Ravenclaws, but found myself against that idea. Perhaps fair and kind like Hufflepuff? Surely, I wasn't a Slytherin, even if I was a classified dark creature. Out of four Houses, Gryffindor fascinated me the most, and it was the House I had hoped to join.

"GRYFFINDOR!" The Sorting Hat shouted, loud and clear. A roar of applause burst from the Gryffindor table. I clapped along with them, feeling already at home among the House known for their bravery, even if I could muster very little courage in myself over the years. The boy hopped off the stool and walked towards the table, dazed with exuberance.

"Remus Lupin."

I tore my eyes away from the joyous welcome at the Gryffindor table and walked up to the Sorting Hat, feeling the eyes of the entire Hall on me as I placed the hat on my head and took a seat.

The voice of the Sorting Hat echoed in my mind.

For minutes, it deliberated on where to place me. Ravenclaw for the wise and astute? Gryffindor for the brave? Loyal Hufflepuff? While it went back and forth between the Houses and my attributes, the Hall was watching me with anticipation. I saw confusion flicker across their faces. How strange I must have looked to them - a late bloomer who started his Hogwarts education late.

I did wonder if it would sort me in Slytherin, the house most known to mingle with dark creatures such as myself and the most likely to engage in the dark arts, but it never mentioned Slytherin - only the other three houses, which was fine by me.

Finally, the Sorting Hat made its decision.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it roared.

A chill ran through my body as I heard the words. That was it. I belonged to the House of the brave Gryffindors - like I had hoped. With a wide smile fixed upon my face, I walked over to the Gryffindor table among cheers and applause.

"Congratulations, Remus," said an older student who I assumed was a prefect. As I walked down the aisle, I was greeted with more "Welcome to Gryffindor." Then, the applause quieted down, and the next student was called forward. I took a seat by at the table among the older students.

"Welcome to Gryffindor, Remus," I heard a familiar voice say.

Across from the table, diagonal from me was Sirius Black, grinning widely. Beside him was the bespectacled wizard with messy hair from before.

I froze, not expecting to see him so soon. What did he want? I thought.

"Thanks," I said, taking a shuttering breath and smiling. I turned around and glued my eyes to the front of the room, even as I felt his eyes behind me.

"Is that the same one as before?" his friend asked just as the Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers and applause.

The newly minted Hufflepuff ambled over to the middle table, looking deliriously happy to join the new House.

"Yeah," Sirius said, less sure of himself now.

What did he have to unsure about?

When the Sorting ended, Headmaster Dumbledore gave a short speech - nothing I could remember afterwards, not with Sirius Black whispering to his friend. I kept wondering if they were whispering about my secret in public. Would the school know I was werewolf now? "Caretaker Filch has prepared a list of prohibited items that he would like to share. Mister Filch, if you would."

A middle aged man with a hunchback and old but neat clothes hobbled to the front of the room with a scroll. He unrolled it and then proceeded to list almost every toy you could purchase at Zonko's. Half way through his life, particularly when he read, "Dungbombs," the caretaker paused to narrow his eyes at the young wizards behind me. I turned and caught a glimpse of Sirius Black and his messy haired friend smiling back at the caretaker.

So they were troublemakers too, I thought forlornly as I turned back around. Troublemakers with knowledge of my secret.

I sighed, already exasperated by the whole thing. If they wanted to out me as a werewolf, I would rather they do it now rather than later.

Maybe they didn't know of my lycanthropy, I tried to convince myself.

That ended quickly.

What other secret could it have been but my lycanthropy? What other secret did I have besides that? They saw me in the hospital, wrapped in bandages. As purebloods raised entirely in the Wizarding World, they would know that only magical creatures could inflict wounds that couldn't be mended by healing spells.

I rubbed my shoulders, attempting to loosen the tension.

If they did spread my secret to the others…

The same students that applauded my entry and accepted me as one of their own - as wizarding kind - would easily denounce me as a monster. I couldn't blame them, I thought bitterly. I was a danger to their lives. At that moment, I imagined their eyes, the eyes of the entire Great Hall, changing from bright and welcoming to distrusting and hostile, narrowing in on the werewolf among the wizards. Letters would be sent home about a werewolf, a predator, me among the students, and I would be forced to withdraw from Hogwarts.

I feared it would happen in the future, but I had hoped that it wouldn't happen until another year or two.

"Remus," I heard Sirius Black whisper.

I chose to ignore it, keeping my eyes on the front while Dumbledore made his final speech. Black had already added unnecessary drama to my already difficult life at Platform 9 and 3/4. I didn't need more of it now.

"Remus," I heard again.

I turned, raising my eyebrows at the curious Gryffindor, taking in his dark curly hair and his grey eyes. Merlin, he was abnormally handsome.

"What year are you in?" he asked.

"Fifth Year," I answered, not wanting to seem standoffish.

"Same as us," his friend commented before introducing himself. "James Potter."

"Remus Lupin."

Once the Sorting ended, food was magically delivered to the table. Along with the food came lively conversation from the students about their summer. I found my new classmates friendly and curious about my age. None of them had ever met a wizard who started Hogwarts at 15.

"Why have you come to Hogwarts so late?" a fifth year asked. "Most wizards start school at 11."

"I was ill," I explained. I thought it was a good lie, a lie that I expected to use frequently this year to explain my monthly disappearances. Better get used to it now, I thought.

I glanced over to see if Sirius Black had heard. His eyes shifted to me and then he turned and smiled.

Maybe I would have to get used to him too.

I wanted to be here, at Hogwarts, but now it was beginning to be too much, like everything that happened before the Sorting foreshadowed an arduous year.


End file.
